Grit

Knowledge Falan [8]

So the five wheels slid across the first escape in 6 years. That makes seven since the last one we took. Now long gone prison is the escape we long for. If a window opens the road should be steep. There is now no more sense of gravity anyhow. The mountain’s mass wil just about keep us to the ground. If we skip to a next smaller page another year will be clear. The mountain does not appear in the legend. At least here is something else. In the fifth stage it gets shakey. It might break loose too. We are ready to get to the bottom of this. This hasn’t worked for us in the past. There’s no stopping it even when there is no point. We might separate when our physics make the wings of the whole collapse. Then new roads should impossibly emerge. Seperately i will and you will fade into backwards. The next hole that comes is yours. That shift should pull me through highest grass. Depths do not care for distance. I will be on you on a new way to where I can not be and you must. My vision proves difference between self and other. The great stone that falls down from the top turns around the circle and is clay-like in its swallowing you and disconnecting me and seizing to make its victim a victim. All the tower has sunk to sleep beneath warm seeming-to-be clay weight. A stop-motion impression of imprisonment feeds the roots of the aforefallen tree. The jelly base of top-wheel ground raises earth and disappears the bottom. The tube is a way where three or four dimensions are equal. Busy steering forward to uncharteds the roof slides into the emptied trunk. This is no ordinary demand for legend. We call it as it is and as we are. The horizon has always remained an equator of sorts. Thereon we might base hope that a legend will reappear by knowledge and there will be no end like we expected in the first place so that we are as invincible as we ever were in spaces of matter and lack of space and direction of mind and soul where an unprovable lust draws clear fuzzes afore the fallen tree that is the ever troubled invincible mind of the regularly forward time traveller on the road towards roads when the self-made castle on wheels doesn’t bake its pies anymore and window glass lies shattered only in front of you and not the me that never was there anyhow.